


"Five Exercises to Help Restore Balance"

by MayGlenn



Series: May's February Ficlet Challenge 2021 [21]
Category: Roswell New Mexico (TV 2019)
Genre: F/F, Fluff and Humor, Gen, Isobel is horrible, Married Life, Nebulous Well-Adjusted Future, OG Roswell References, Prank Wars, but Rosa gets her back
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-26
Updated: 2021-02-26
Packaged: 2021-03-17 16:14:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29719824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MayGlenn/pseuds/MayGlenn
Summary: “Calm down, Christmas Nazi. It’s not even Thanksgiving yet.”“Rosa Helena,” Isobel said, taking on a painfully matter-of-fact tone, “I have already ceded you Halloween. The compromise has been agreed upon. It is November 1st, it is therefore, Christmas.”“How about Día de Los Muertos? You’re insulting my culture and heritage!” Rosa called as her wife flounced off to bring another box of decorations in from the garage.“Funny how your culture and heritage only comes up when you want to be a Scrooge!” Isobel called back.
Relationships: Isabel Evans/Rosa Ortecho
Series: May's February Ficlet Challenge 2021 [21]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2141298
Comments: 8
Kudos: 7
Collections: February Ficlet Challenge 2021: Apocalypse No





	"Five Exercises to Help Restore Balance"

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ladynox](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladynox/gifts), [beautifulcheat (Katalyst)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Katalyst/gifts), [beeayy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/beeayy/gifts).



“Calm down, Christmas Nazi. It’s not even Thanksgiving yet.” 

“Rosa Helena,” Isobel said, taking on a painfully matter-of-fact tone, “I have already ceded you Halloween. The compromise has been agreed upon. It is November 1st, it is therefore, Christmas.” 

“How about Día de Los Muertos? You’re insulting my culture and heritage!” Rosa called as her wife flounced off to bring another box in from the garage. 

“Funny how your culture and heritage only comes up when you want to be a Scrooge!” Isobel called back. When she returned with another box, she plopped it in Rosa’s lap. “You’ve returned from the dead, already, what interest could death possibly hold for you? Name one person you even know who is dead.” 

“I dunno, Jim Valenti? My  _ father _ ?” 

That got her, and Isobel shifted uncomfortably. “Alright, well, in this house we celebrate Día de Los  _ Merry  _ Muertos. We can do an ofrenda on the mantle and transition to full Christmas on the third. Like,  _ Nightmare Before Christmas. _ ” 

Rosa rolled her eyes. “Fine!” 

…

Isobel had perfected a full batch of ugly sweater sugar cookies before she realized something was wrong. 

Very wrong. 

“Rosaaaaa!” 

Rosa smirked to herself behind her headphones, pretending not to hear. 

“Rosa!” Isobel demanded, coming into her studio and smacking her on the head with a cookbook. “What did you do?!”

“Whoa! Triggering, much?” Rosa shouted, ripping off her headphones. “Don’t hit me with books, Izzy!”

“First of all, that’s not what ‘triggering’ means. We both know if there was a domestic violence situation going on between us, we would  _ both _ go for the knives,  _ Crimson Peak _ style. Which I’m about to do to you if you don’t tell me where the sugar is!” 

“What sugar?” 

“The sugar you took  _ out of the sugar bag _ so you could fill it with  _ salt _ . I get it, you want to ruin Christmas, nice try, but at least tell me you  _ kept  _ the sugar.” Isobel thought she was being very reasonable about this. No harm done, even 48 cookies down, haha, salty cookies, maybe she’d decorate them anyway and take them to her mother’s country club. “...Don’t tell me you put the sugar in my gas tank, too?” 

“Why would I do that? I’m going to Papi’s later,” Rosa said. She sighed and rolled her eyes. “The sugar’s in the Triscuit box.” 

“Sneaky. Not sneaky enough,” Isobel said, bopping her on the head again with the cookbook. “This means war, Rosie.” 

“Izzy!” 

…

That evening, Isobel came in with a tiny petite four on a plate for Rosa, who was working late on a canvas painting she didn’t want to let dry. 

“Here, you can eat this one, I messed up the decoration,” Isobel said. 

“I’m glad I rank so high,” Rosa said, wiping her hands off before taking the plate. “What’s wrong with it?” 

“Ugh, it’s terrible! Can’t you see? You’re an artist.” 

Rosa had long ago decided that her wife was just psychotic, so, whatever. She picked up the delicate little cake, neatly frosted in red, with a little rosette on top, and checked the bottom to see if she could see any cake. “What kind is it?” 

“Chocolate sponge and cherry frosting. Just pop the whole thing in your mouth.” 

Rosa did so. 

The frosting was good, though the cake left something to be desired. At some point the tick in Isobel’s jaw combined with the cake not reducing in size gave away that she was not, in fact, eating a  _ sponge cake _ , but an actual  _ sponge _ , decorated to  _ look  _ like a cake. 

“God  _ damn  _ it, Isobel!” Rosa shrieked, spitting the sponge back out onto the plate. 

Isobel got two giggles in before she shrieked and bolted, her wife’s blood-red-stained mouth screaming at her as she chased her all through the house. 

…

“Isobel was married before?” 

“Right, right,” Rosa said. “Almost ten years, actually, before she met me.”

The new bartender blinked at her. They were at the Wild Pony’s Thanksgiving week Ranchero Night, Isobel having survived the sponge prank with only a severe Charlie horse. But Rosa obviously still hadn’t forgiven her, as Rosa proceeded to tell all the new bartenders how her wife “was  _ much  _ older” than her.

“She’s not wrong,” Michael said, sitting back with a glass of the good whiskey, courtesy of Maria, between his shifts helping to serve food. His hair was back in a hairnet and he looked so dumb, but still managed to look smug. “You’re a dirty cradle robber.” 

“Shut up, you’re as much a deviant as me.”

“Have you done the one with the air horn behind a door?” Michael suggested. “Just make sure she’s not carrying anything breakable. Alex never forgave me for that one.” 

“Amateur,” Isobel said. “I did put googly eyes on everything in the refrigerator, but she just got mad at me for raiding her craft supplies and wasn’t the least bit freaked out. I’m starting to think I need to get her dad involved. Arturo would help me pull a prank on her, right?”

Michael shook his head. “You two have a really strange relationship. I still think Rosa could have done better.”

“Don’t you start with me. I may be losing the battle, but I’ll win the war.” 

…

“Hey, babe, mail came,” Rosa said.

Isobel didn’t look up from her iPad, which she was using to furiously email a bridezilla who was getting married after Christmas. “Oh, yeah? Anything good?” 

“Well, let’s see,” Rosa said, taking the stack—quite sizeable, but normal for Christmastime—and sorting them into piles: “Student loans, yay, something that looks like work for you, card from Liz and Max, magazine for...me?” 

Rosa set the stack down as she held the new magazine, shrink-wrapped, with her name on it, clearly: Rosa Evans-Ortecho. Smiling fourteen-year-olds in pink lip gloss stared back from the cover of some monstrosity called  _ Girls’ Life _ . “What the  _ duck _ ?” 

Isobel looked up. 

“Oh, yeah, that’s for you. I thought you might need some baby steps to get your makeup routine out of the 90s.” 

Rosa’s face was priceless as she struggled for a comeback to that. 

“You witch!” she finally managed, stomping off to shred the magazine immediately. 

“I thought you could use them for your mood boards and collages!” Isobel called. “I think there’s horses in that issue!” 

“UGH!” Rosa cried, even more mad now that she was interested. 

Isobel chuckled to herself and went back to her iPad, hearing shredding at first, and then slowly turning pages from the other room. She finished her emails, and then looked at the stack of mail still to be sorted. Another bill, pizza ad, Christmas card...and another magazine? She thought she had cancelled her  _ Vogue _ subscription…

“What on earth?!” Isobel stood up with a shriek, all but dumping her iPad on the floor as she clutched the magazine with Roma Downey on the cover and "Five Exercises to Help Restore Balance." For a brief moment Isobel hoped this had just gotten misdelivered from her parents’ house, same last name and all, but no, that was  _ her  _ name, that was Isobel Evans-Ortecho on the cover, next to "Top Bras and Underwear Every Woman Over 50 Should Own." “Why the hell are they sending me  _ AARP _ ?! Who’s sending me—”

From the other room, Rosa cackled. 

“ROSA!” 

**Author's Note:**

> Twenty-second in the February Ficlet Challenge. The prompt was "Singularity" and this fits the following definition of that (as the prank war spirals out of control): 
> 
> "Singularity: a point at which a function takes an infinite value, especially in space-time when matter is infinitely dense, as at the center of a black hole."
> 
> Thanks to Ladynox, Beautifulcheat, and Beeayy for helping me come up with pranks.


End file.
